


A dangerous habit

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (Finrod can't get enough of naked Men), Finrod takes notes, Finrod's interest is Purely Scholarly, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod is very interested in the race of Men. One in particular. Who is, in turn, very interested in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A dangerous habit

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Опасная привычка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420204) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



> 0\. You know how 90% of what I write is total indulgence? Yeah, this is more of that. Finrod/Bëor – for me, because there’s not enough of these two.  
> 1\. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at all influenced by tehta's Finrod and his [purely scholarly interest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/685187) in the race of Men.

Finrod woke to the feel of a rough chin hooking over his shoulder, and broad hands sliding over his hips. 

Was it the fourth morning in a row he had awakened thus, or the fifth? 

It was beginning to feel rather like habit. 

“I think I’m finally starting to be able to tell when you’re actually awake,” Bëor murmured, his voice still raspy with sleep.  

“Oh?” Finrod stretched, and Bëor’s hands tightened on his hips. 

“Yes. It has to do with your breathing, and how your pupils focus, and your reactions…to touch, for one.” 

“Interesting.” Finrod let his head sink back onto Bëor’s shoulder, and felt the man nuzzle against his throat. He tried not to let his breath speed up at the sensation; if he let Bëor know just what an effect the rasp of his beard had on him, he might well never be allowed from bed again. Just like what had happened when the man had discovered the sensitivity of his ears… 

“You learn very quickly,” he said instead, as Bëor tugged him back against his body. “Is that true for all your kind, or is this a unique trait? It would make sense if your people were swift learners, given how – ” 

“Not this again,” said Bëor, running a large hand over Finrod’s belly. “Take your scholarly notes another time, elf.” 

“I am not taking notes,” said Finrod, his voice even as the man’s lips found his ear.  _Damn_. “If you’ll remember, you have forbidden me from bringing my notebook into bed.” 

“Yes, I have,” said Bëor, into Finrod’s ear, and Finrod wound his fingers into the blanket to keep himself from shuddering outright. “Flattering as it was to have you reaching for your quill while I was inside you, I prefer having your  _full_  attention.” 

“It is simply that you are very – ah, fascinating to me,” said Finrod, eyes closing as Bëor’s hand drifted lower. “Most compelling, and – oh – if I do not…do not document it in the moment, I fear I shall forget. You are very… _distracting_ …” 

“I shall just have to be memorable then, won’t I?” said Bëor, his voice a low growl. “In order that my brief time with such a great Elf Lord should survive the passage of time.” 

Finrod shivered, and whether it was at the persistent press of the man at his back or the words  _brief time_ , he couldn’t be sure. “Not so brief, I hope.” 

Bëor smiled against his neck. “You know by now that I can take my time when it matters, my lord.”

 _Yes_ , Finrod thought, and didn’t bother holding back his sigh as Bëor’s hand wrapped around him.  _It is something I could get quite used to. That, as well as your rough skin and coarse hair and, Eru, the girth of you, and the way you look at me as though I am something you cannot quite believe…_

But he said none of this, as Bëor kissed his neck and his bare shoulder and moved into him, equal parts rough and tender, whispering endearments in his own tongue – “Gods above, you’re beautiful –  _ah_ , and so tight – how did I come by you, fair one, how did I get so lucky?” 

 _It is I who am lucky_ , Finrod thought _, and yet – what a curse._

_I cannot allow myself to become accustomed to this._

 

-

 

The sun was rolling towards noon when Bëor awoke again, and laughed to see, through the open tent flap, Finrod sitting naked on the grass, bent over his notebook.

“Deep into your records, fair scholar?” 

Finrod looked up and smiled, a little distracted. “Not writing, no.” 

“What then?” Bëor pulled himself from the tent and stretched in the midday sun. 

Finrod’s eyes lingered on him appreciatively. “Drawing, in fact.”

“What, no words to commemorate the new things you have learned about the race of Men?”

“You have proved yourself more than memorable on that front, my friend,” said Finrod softly. “But I find myself wanting to capture you in something other than words. And so,” he gestured to his sketches. “Images, instead.” 

Bëor bent over the notebook, his eyebrows raising. “I hope you will not be sharing these with your people. I had thought the race of Elves – ah, too refined in their tastes for such things…”

“You are wrong there,” said Finrod, and laughed as Bëor looked instantly attentive. “But no – these are for my benefit alone.” 

_So that I shall always remember you exactly as you are now._

Something sharp seized his heart then, but he allowed himself to laugh on as Bëor reached over to pull him into his arms and kiss him thoroughly, the notebook dropping forgotten to the grass. 

It was the fourth morning, or the fifth, and already it felt as if it had always been thus. 

He knew it couldn’t last.


End file.
